


Rat the Judge

by AliNasweter



Series: It All Started With a Rat [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Chapter 5 and 6, Charlotte Is Trying Her Best, Charlotte POV, Could be continued, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Spoilers, Worried Charles Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliNasweter/pseuds/AliNasweter
Summary: Charlotte must be cursed. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel to make her bury another man she held dear?After Arthur collapsed in her house, she decided to make him comfortable and - hopefully - wait for someone more suitable for this task.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Charlotte Balfour, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Series: It All Started With a Rat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667326
Comments: 18
Kudos: 123





	Rat the Judge

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Čeština available: [Krysa soudce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084950) by [AliNasweter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliNasweter/pseuds/AliNasweter)



He was mumbling against her chest, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, eyes glassy with fever but somewhat dulled. Fever was beginning to kick in and she didn’t really care if their positions were inappropriate. Who was there to judge, after all? Maybe that cursed rat.

“Is there anyone from your family that needs to know about this?” she tried to ask him once more, gently brushing his hair. He wasn’t even breathing, really, it couldn’t be called breathing by the biggest optimist in this world. He wheezed and coughed, but the worst seemed to be gone. Perhaps just the calm before the storm, considering his heavy eyelids and limp body, obvious signs of giving up. His battle with consciousness was close to an end and she still had barely any information.

“You said that sometimes a man from your home tracks you down, whenever you are gone for too long. I need to know whom to expect – I get a few visits and all those men would gladly use this against me, I need to know who is going to come. How would they look like, their names… Arthur, please.”

“I dunno. There’s two,” he sighed, annoyed at her probing. He seemed to not realize he was practically lying on her chest. “One is… he’s… not there anymore though. Not for me at least.” As if that made any sense. Lots of things made sense for a feverish mind, she knew that, remembering her husband’s last whispers.

“The other one, then,” she tried to help and shook him, maybe too hard if she were honest.

“Oh you’ll know,” and to her utter surprise, he grinned at her even though he seemed to not really see her. “He’s… a wonder, really. Big fella, strong. Very… calm. Gentle. Polite. Probably worried, he does that. He won’t hurt you. Charles. Maybe nobody comes, though. I am sorry.”

The battle was lost.

“Oh heavens above, to think that I was worried you just got sick from my food…” she squeezed him, uselessly. Then she maneuvered his upper body so she could slip from under his weight and get him comfortable in her bed. She took his boots and the vest and from the look at his trousers, she could say that they used to fit him well and they certainly didn’t welcome his obvious weight loss. His rough fingers were trying to grip her skirt so she gave him a blanket she kept for freezing nights. He seemed to have found comfort in that, and she couldn’t help but comb her fingers through his hair once more. She was only human – of course she wondered if they were as soft as they appeared to be. Shamelessly, she took that advantage and smiled when she found out that _indeed_ , they are.

Birds were happily chirping outside and she could hear the rat finding its way into her kitchen. In the usual and, since her husband’s death, also unwelcome silence she could hear Arthur’s heavy breathing and occasional mumble under his breath. Maybe she was cursed. Maybe another man was about to die in this bed. Another man she held dear.

Of course, she was scared shitless ( _hah, who was here to give her a scandalized look?_ ) when she first saw him approach her husband’s grave. He was big and looked as if he could strangle her with one hand, but he kept his distance as to not tower over her, perhaps. Looking lost and terribly awkward, coughing under his breath and asking if she were alright, even though she obviously wasn’t. Even his voice was gruff, his clothes looking rather loose on him, but clean enough. He kept his head down, using that black ragged hat as a cover. She’d thought that was suspicious until she learned that was just the way he communicated.

But his voice was also patient and his eyes were blue like a clear sky, he smiled in polite disagreement when she put herself down, he furrowed his brow in concern when she’d told him that she was probably going to starve soon. He looked away at the mention of her husband’s passing, as if he were the one who had taken his life. Or as if he knew exactly what she was talking about, as if he had to watch his beloved people die as well. Somehow, she didn’t doubt that for a second.

When he got closer only to tighten her grip on her rifle, she almost gasped. This is it, this is where he takes the advantage, she is _so_ doomed. She had warned him to not try anything funny and he nodded but _seriously_ , what was she thinking – stopping a man with a trembling voice and fear in her eyes, a plea to not hurt her.

She wasn’t doomed. She’d shot the damn bottle and she wanted to kiss him. Looking at him, he would’ve had probably bolted like a startled deer if she had made a move. When he’d escorted her to the door of her house, she, once again, felt fear. There was absolutely nothing she could have done to save herself, rabbit over her shoulder, rifle in her hand but aiming at the ground. And she’d seen him shoot. If she were still a teenage girl with her sharp nose buried in romantic novels, she would have fallen over heels for him. _The Man_ , she would have thought, dreamily and perhaps with a sigh as well. She used to be so hopeless, dear god.

And then she risked her life once again and told him she was tired. She will welcome him the next time, but today, she needs to rest. He bowed his head, touched the tip of his hat, perhaps hiding a smile because as much as he could hide it on his face, he couldn’t keep it from his gruff voice. He sounded satisfied, happier. He’d helped and he felt better for it. A man looking to redeem himself, maybe.

Nobody came for two more weeks, not even that man who used to camp in front of her house, asking her to let him in and be her man. _She was so sad_ , after all, and he wouldn’t mind a company, so everyone would be happy, right? She felt dread creeping up her neck whenever he opened his mouth and spoke.

After Mr. Morgan left, the man who had wanted her to be his never showed up again.

And then, Arthur came by again. She actually blushed when she noticed how proud he had been when she told him she was not afraid of starving anymore.

“That’s good,” he just said and bowed his head just enough for that ragged hat to hide his eyes. He was pleased with himself and proud of her and she felt like inviting him in. She had promised it, after all.

He ate the soup slowly, obviously enjoying a hot meal, the first one in a long time from the looks of it. He seemed content there on the opposite side of her table, watching her with a small smile, maybe fond over the way she kept rambling about her boring life. When she’d noticed the look of panic in his eyes, she froze and couldn’t move for a few seconds, fearing he might think she had poisoned him. But then there was coughing she knew well enough to know that her cooking skills were not at fault here.

He was heavy as expected, yet not as much as she would have liked. A man of his size shouldn’t be so skinny. Worse yet, it was painfully obvious now that it was no hunger that kept the fat off his bones, but his illness. She wanted to cry when she realized what kind of fate was awaiting him.

And now she was left with an unconscious man in her bed, unfinished lunch on her table, cheeky rat in her kitchen, and terrible feeling that once again, she might have to dig a grave. Determined, she prepared to become a nurse for as long as Arthur would need her. She had nothing she could use to ease his pain, aside from a towel and her own inexperienced hands. She was no professional, no doctor or even a nurse, but she was gentle and her touch was nothing if not loving and careful. Not for the first time did she curse herself for not knowing enough about herbs, about illnesses, wounds, anything, really.

He kept mumbling about some people she didn’t know. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the words apart, sometimes there were only names. Sometimes it was heartbroken _Lenny_ or terrified _Hosea_. Sometimes it was _Dutch_ and that was so, so sad. Sometimes he was trying to warn Dutch, repeating something about Colm and a trap and the law, and she was no fool – of course she could tell the man in her bed was by no means a person on the so-called good side of the law. She knew enough to not doubt for a second he deserved every little bit of her attention and care anyway. A criminal didn’t have to be evil. As far as she knew, Arthur had saved her life and taught her how to survive without a man.

Sometimes he called out for Charles, and she hoped that man wasn’t dead. Arthur sounded like he’d lost everything, perhaps he only grieved in his nightmares, maybe that Charles they were waiting for was long gone, too. She kept looking out of the window every time she went to wet the towel.

It had been days when she finally noticed a figure in the trees. Instinct told her that man had wanted to be seen, and that was a good sign if she ever saw one. Not the creeping old man in the bushes who kept watching her and trying to get into her house. This one kept his distance, watching, waiting. She took her rifle, her hands trembling and heart racing, and took a deep breath.

Maybe there were more of them, waiting exactly for that moment. But once she came out of the house, nothing happened, only the man near the trees raised his hands, very carefully, slowly. Still watching her.

“Who are you,” she called out, proud of her strong voice. Now she had to think of Arthur, too. It was not only her that was in danger here. She was ready to kill. The protective urge gave her strength. The man, dark-skinned and large as life, crouched a bit, making himself a smaller threat or a smaller target.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, miss,” he said in a low voice, sounded more like a humming sound than words but Arthur’s remark came to her mind. _Very polite, very calm, worried. Won’t hurt you._ The man still held his hands up, watching her intently. “I am looking for a friend,” he continued. “I tried to track him down, and this is where the trace ends… have you seen him?” There it was. The worry she was looking for. “He is probably as tall as I am. Brown hair, blue eyes. Wears a blue shirt and a black hat.” Oh thank god.

“Name?” she asked. The man visibly faltered, torn between something only criminal on a run could understand. Maybe trying to figure out if Arthur gave her the name he had been born with, or the one he came up with himself. “Yours, then,” she said.

“It’s Charles,” he said, quietly. She nodded and he let the hands fall. “I am not here to hurt you.”

And it broke her heart, how unsure and reluctant he still was, trying to keep eye contact but getting distracted by the silence that shouldn’t be in the house, not when a woman was standing here on her own, facing a stranger with a gun. He raised his hands once again, taking a few steps towards her. Used to people being afraid of him, probably. He might have used it for his advantage many times, but just like Arthur, he could tell where it wasn’t needed. He could tell she wasn’t protecting her belongings. She never was a mother but suddenly, she felt like one.

“Please,” the man spoke up again, his face stoic, but his voice growing anxious. “Have you seen him?” He probably knew he had found him. The fact that Arthur was nowhere to be seen only fueled his worry. Now it was her turn.

“I hope you have some medical skills, sir,” she said with an unhappy smile, and if she doubted him until now, the way he’d stiffened at those words took all the doubts away. “He is not wounded but…”

“I know,” he interrupted and took a few more steps to the house, then he raised his hands again, waited for her to lower the rifle and nod her head. He headed into her house and she let out a long breath.

Good.


End file.
